by H. D. Gordon
Arrol’s brow arched, and he looked at Charlie as though he’d forgotten he was there. “You’re putting a lot of faith in his girlfriend. Tristell is not a weak opponent.”
“Neither is Surah Stormsong,” Charlie said, wondering if he might not have to kill this Fae after all, which was good and well. He had a feeling there was much death to come.
“Surah Stormsong? The royal Sorceress?” Arrol asked. “So it’s true. The Fae Queen is making a move for Sorcerer Territory.” Arrol’s face relaxed a touch, and he eyed Aria. “I shouldn’t even be talking to you.”
Aria only looked at him.
“You’ve got The Touch real strong, don’t you?” Arrol said.
Charlie had no idea what ‘The Touch’ was, but Aria must have, because she shrugged and pushed some of her wavy, red-brown hair out of her face. “Or maybe you’re just not as comfortable with killing as you’d like to think.”
“Stop that,” the Fae warned.
Slowly, watching Arrol closely, Aria moved over to the couch, setting her wooden bow on the coffee table, eyes never leaving the Fae. She took a seat, holding both hands up. When Arrol made no move against her, the blank expression on his face saying he wasn’t fully decided in the matter, she gestured at the armchair across from her.
“Please,” she said, with all the poise of a royal, “take a load off.” She looked at Charlie, telling him with her eyes that it was okay, and added, “you too, Charlie.”
Charlie was not at all sure this was a good decision, but so far the Halfling girl seemed to know how to handle tough situations. She’d saved his butt more than once in the past twenty-four hours, and he knew that he could trust her. Not for the first time, he wondered about Aria’s history, about how she’d come to be the girl she was now. He knew there had to be a hell of a story there.
He moved over to the couch and took a seat beside Aria as Arrol took a seat in the armchair. Charlie noticed the look that came into Aria’s eyes when she watched as the Fae’s dragonfly-like wings folded over his shoulders and back, melting into his skin to resemble nothing more than intricate tattoos. Charlie did not miss Aria’s brief look of longing.
“Wonderful,” Aria said, with a bright smile. “Now, Mr. Arrol, let’s discuss all the benefits of not killing me, shall we? First of all, you won’t have to live with the death of a child on your conscience, and that alone is a pretty big thing, am I right?”
Arrol only looked at her, and Charlie was not aware of it, but the expression on his face was much the same as the Fae’s. Aria had a strange way about her, even in a room full of supernaturals.
The way Aria shifted in her seat said that she was used to this. “Also,” she quickly continued, “I’m a Peace Broker. I don’t know if Tristell told you that, but it’s true.” Aria reached into the pocket of her leather jacket and removed a gold medallion with the letters PB stamped into the face. Charlie leaned forward to get a look at it along with Arrol. He’d never seen one of them before, but assumed it was the equivalent of a badge for the Peace Brokers.
Aria flipped the medallion expertly over her fingers and it disappeared back into her pocket. “Killing me would’ve brought a world of trouble your way,” she said.
Arrol gave a single nod. Apparently Aria’s Peace Broker badge was legit enough for him.
“Reason numero three,” Aria continued, “You don’t have to get beat up by my stick.” She gestured down at the bow on the table between them. “If they were here, those who have been beaten up by my stick would totally testify to the fact that it sucks. Trust me.”
Arrol raised an eyebrow, but he seemed more amused with the girl than angry. “You are a strange creature, Aria Fae,” he said.
She sighed. “That’s what they tell me.”
“Aria,” Charlie said, eager to end this now that it was clear Arrol wasn’t going to try to kill her. He had not forgotten that Surah was likely in serious trouble, and time was of the essence. “I need to go.”
Aria stood, retrieving the bow from the table with her left hand and holding out her right to Arrol. “Right, well, it was nice to meet you, Arrol. We gotta go, but thanks for not, you know, skewering me with your sword.”
Arrol stared at her hand for a moment, then took it into his own and kissed it. Charlie suppressed an eye roll at this. This guy clearly thought he was cool. But by the blush that rose into Aria’s cheeks, Charlie could see that the girl obviously agreed.
“It was a pleasure,” the Fae said. He looked at Charlie. “I hope you’re right about Lady Stormsong. If she should fall to Tristell… Gods help us all.”
“Oh, Surah isn’t a lady anymore,” said Aria, as if pulling the thought from Charlie’s head. “She’s a queen. And in this case, she’s definitely the good guy, and the good guys always win, right?” Aria’s grin grew in a way that gave away her youth, for only those of so few years would hold to such a belief. Both Charlie and Arrol were old enough to see it.
It tugged at his heart, because Charlie knew well that this was not always the case. Maybe in fairytales, or the movies humans created to entertain themselves, but not in the world Charlie lived in, not in real life.
In real life, the good guy did not always win. Sometimes, in real life, the good guy finished dead last.
CHAPTER 41
SURAH
She walked, the air swirling above her head in an angry gray, the Black Stone glowing and throbbing at her neck, the Dark Magic running through her as if carried through her veins, leaving no part of her untouched. Possessing her.
Having moved a mile out of the City, she came to a stop in a wide, open field. Tall, yellow-green grass bent heavy in the wind, lying down nearly flat, as if blanketing the ground, shielding it from the massacre that was going to take place here.
Whereas the thought of so much coming death should have sickened her, it did not. Surah was tired of being afraid, done with playing the defensive. This mess Black Heart and the Fae Queen had dumped on her would be cleaned up today, one way or another. They wanted blood, and she would give it to them. She would give them enough to sate them for the rest of eternity, and they would see how much they’d underestimated her when she tore their hearts from their chests and their heads from their shoulders. They would rue the day.
She was well aware that the eyes of her people were on her. Thousands of them, staring into crystal balls and Magic bowls and brews and whatever else common people used for their Magic. She could feel their gazes on her, and she was glad for the audience, glad that what went down today would be recorded in the memories of all.
Lifting her arms high into the air, eyes writhing with ebony, Surah pulled the Dark Magic around her and began to open the portal into her Territory. It was not a simple Spell, but Surah was not a novice caster, and she felt more than up to the task. Oddly, she found that the more she used the Black Stone, the more she felt invigorated with its power. This was a side effect she had not anticipated, as the use of Magic always depleted the user. Rather than feeling depleted, she felt supercharged, ready to take on the whole damn world.
And it would be a bold-faced lie to say that she didn’t like it, that it didn’t feel good.
As if ripped by the hands of a God, a hole opened in the air before her, an impenetrable blackness filling its center, the atmosphere around its edges blurring as the light itself struggled not to be sucked in. Power surged through Surah, heady and invigorating. She felt it shooting from her fingertips, from her toes, out the top of her head, as if Magic was emerging from her very pores, rising out of her skin.
Along with this opening, she shut off any other entrance or exit in her Territory, so that if someone on the outside wanted to enter, they would have to come through this very spot… where she would be waiting with sais in hand.
The thought made a terrible grin stretch her face, which was somehow less lovely than it had always been. All throughout the land, Sorcerer people gritted their teeth and cringed inwardly to see their ruler in such a manner, al
l the while unable to pull their eyes away from the scene. Hardly a word was uttered.
The portal gaped like a wound in the air, promising an outpouring of poison, disease that needed to be purged, burned away before it could be allowed to taint her land. She’d never felt as alone in her whole life as she felt in that moment, never more resolved or angry or vengeful than right then.
Reaching into her cloak, the fine material flying out like wings behind her, she removed her silver sais, clutching the weapons in her hands. She took the stance of a fighter, her body as capable and graceful as a deadly dancer, her face set in the manner of a warrior.
Her lavender hair lifted off her shoulders, which were held lose and ready. One side of her mouth pulled up in a crooked smile, and her heart settled into stone.
She waited.
CHAPTER 42
BLACK HEART
The fires of the Underworld blazed around him, the heat only succeeded by that in his soul. He was no stranger to the feeling, and it was a hard contrast to the coldness of his heart.
Michael had been using Dark Magic for decades, and it had slowly eaten away at his core, until all that remained was a shell built for holding hate.
He was distantly aware of the fact that he was too far gone to save, would on occasion hear the whisper of a familiar voice, saying that this was not who he’d been meant to be, that somewhere along the way he’d taken a terrible turn, that it was all somehow… wrong. But that whisper would be drowned out as quickly as it arose, fading into nothing, like the memory of a ghost.
All he understood now was vengeance, violence, the need to obtain more power. There was no doubt in his mind that had the royals cared more about the people they were supposed to serve, his mother and father would still be alive, and he would be a different man completely. He would be Michael.
As it was, the title Black Heart was a better fit.
The only thing that did cause a small ache in his chest was the thought of Charlie. Even after all these years, he could not shake the last sliver of regret he held over the way things had turned out between him and his little brother. When their parents had died, the two of them had been just boys, and Michael had taken care of Charlie. He had made sure they had something to eat, somewhere to sleep, had watched over his little brother the way a parent would. Because of the rough orphan life they’d lived, Michael had been forced to grow up very early, to skip his childhood altogether.
He’d been shoved into adulthood, and slowly, along with his addiction to Dark Magic, it had turned him into this.
Had Surah Stormsong suffered the same? Or her brother, Syris? Or any of the rest of the Sorcerers who called themselves royal? No, they hadn’t. They never had to scrounge for food, to sleep freezing under the stars, to listen to the screams of their loved ones as they burned alive, trapped within the confines of their modest homes…
It had all happened so long ago, and yet the memories came flooding back as though it were yesterday.
Reaching into his cloak, he removed the small box Dagon had given him. When he opened it, he would have the power to control an army of a thousand of Dagon’s Demons. They would follow him into Sorcerer Territory and tear through anyone who stood in his way. Tristell and her Fae Warriors would follow shortly after, ensuring the win.
The presence of the box had called the Demons forward, and they circled his head in the starless sky above him, their shadows crawling over the barren, scorched ground at his feet, the flickering light of the ceaseless flames of the Underworld the only source by which to see.
Their screeches filled the air, the creatures angrier, more agitated than Black Heart had ever seen them. Something had gone wrong with Dagon, most likely. Perhaps the Dark Lord had underestimated Surah and gone at her alone. It didn’t matter in the least. Black Heart had paid for the box he held in his hands with the blood of a king, and the Demon’s would do his bidding as long as he held it. If Dagon had gone and gotten himself caught or maimed by the Sorceress Queen, it was no concern of his.
He was not underestimating Surah Stormsong. He knew better than to do that. Instead, he was throwing two armies at her, and she was damned no matter what position she took. He was sending the Demons to attack the people, so if she left them unprotected, it would only prove his points. If she chose to divide her forces to protect the people, her castle would fall to him with ease.
Either way, a usurp would take place this day, and one day, the Sorcerer people would thank him for it, would see how much better and more equal life would be under his rule. He would keep them safe in the dark days ahead. A war among the races was coming, and they needed his strong leadership if their kind was going to survive it.
People were thickheaded, set in their ways, scared. They just needed to be shown the way. Tristell and Black Heart could do that. They would unite the Fae and Sorcerer Territories and be stronger for it. A whole new world awaited them.
All that stood in his way was the current ruler. Surah Stormsong. Thanks to him, the last of her line and name. He’d killed her father, the former king, and now it was her turn.
On top of all of that, the bitch had stolen his brother from him. A terrible smile pulled up his lips, warping his once handsome face into something inhuman, like the thousand Demons still circling the hopeless sky above him. He lifted his hands into the air, holding the box the Dark Lord had given him high over his head.
The creatures let out ear-piercing screams and cries. Black Heart lifted the lid of the box, and the reaction of the Demons was instant. He could feel his will exerting itself over them, could see through their eyes and hear through their ears, could feel the wind that pushed beneath their wretched wings.
Opening a portal into the Sorcerer Territory was easier than he anticipated, and he came to the realization that the Magic guarding it must have been taken down. As if she wanted him to come. As if Surah was inviting him in.
Well, he didn’t want to be late to his own party, and he was curious to see what the Sorceress had done in preparation. He sent a hundred of his thousand Demons through the portal first, to get a feel for the situation.
His eyes glazed over as he saw the world through the eyes of his Demons, a rushing sound filling his ears as his consciousness flew through time and space. He was pleased that he got to adopt their senses. It was a perk he hadn’t known was included.
More than anything, he wanted to hear Surah Stormsong scream.
CHAPTER 43
SURAH
Faintly from within, from somewhere on some other side, she could hear them screaming.
The gaping black hole in the sky stood before her, the angry gray clouds rumbling overhead, promising a coming storm. They were coming for her, and the first of them would break through to this realm any second now. She was surprisingly relaxed, the dark power humming through her, filling her from the top of her head to her toes, stabilizing itself somewhere in her stomach.
Let them come. Let them all come.
The land surrounding the semi-crazed Sorceress held eerily quiet, silent save for the whisper the wind made among the grasses, the trees, the occasional bang of an unsecured shutter. It was as though the life there was holding a collective breath, afraid to exhale into the supercharged atmosphere, as if the slightest disturbance could send the whole stack toppling.
Surah stood alone in the clearing outside her city, ready to win or die for her people. When a terrible screech rent the air, she did not so much as cringe, but only tightened her hold on her sais, her heartbeat kicking up a step.
The first Demons flew through the portal, their ear-piercing cries ripping across the sky, their distorted bodies swooping low, claws reaching and jaws snapping, ropes of saliva dripping from their mouths.
The first three Surah slayed with such expert brilliance that had anyone blinked, they would have missed it. She moved with the grace of a dancer, with the power and precision of beast, the calculated strategy only people are capable of. The sharp points of her sais s
lid through their rotten forms with an ease that was nearly sickening to witness.
And everyone in her kingdom, in fact, was standing witness.
The Demons kept coming, more and more of them, one after the other. It was only a matter of seconds before their terrifying forms were filling the sky, blotting out the gray clouds with their large black bodies. They all directed themselves at the Sorceress Queen, attacking her from all angles.
And Surah was cutting them down like weeds.
With each one she slayed, she felt the power intensify within her. She was a sight to be seen, a force to be reckoned with. She moved through the fray in a sort of macabre ballet, the black, unnatural blood of the Demons accompanying the show, spraying this way and that, painting everything it touched, steaming in the cool air.
Off-handedly, Surah could tell that she was covered in the stuff. It disgusted her while also fueling her need to spill more. All she could hear was the way the evil creatures screeched and cried as she ripped the life from them. All she could see was the way they writhed at the ends of her sais.
That lively black ink that had formed in her eyes nearly blotted out all the purple now and was spreading its way into the whites. The Black Stone hung still on her neck, burning into the skin there, though Surah could feel no pain. She continued to kill, like a machine built just for doing so.
Her use of Magic and physical ability was too much even for the Demons. She teleported, slid her sais through the chest and neck of one, and then teleported away and repeated the process before the Demon she’d killed before it even hit the ground. She moved so fast that she was nearly a blur, hard to keep eyes on as she would appear then disappear within the space of a severed heartbeat. It was as though her feet were not even touching the ground.
And the ground, it was black with the blood of her enemies, just as she had promised it would be.
There was a certain intelligence behind the Demon’s red eyes, and Surah knew that Black Heart was the puppet master behind these creatures. It could not be Dagon himself, because Dagon’s head was in a secure place, and would not see the light of day anytime soon.
